Sect's big day in court

Today, my flock, a momentous ruling was handed down. An appeals court found that the state of Texas greatly overstepped its bounds when it seized more than 400 children from a polygamist sect ranch in Eldorado. I had long expected such an outcome, as the state's case seemed rather dubious from the start. Several weeks ago, officials with Child Protective Services played up the number of children from the ranch who had suffered broken bones. But those who bothered to look into the numbers would find that the percentage of sect children who had broken bones was actually lower than that of the general population. Children, you see, are clumsy.

The ruling means that our foster child, Esther, could soon be returning home to the ranch. Though she is enjoying her stay at the ayatollah compound, she was clearly pleased with the thought of reuniting with her mother. So Wendell and I took her to a karaoke club this evening to celebrate.

Having led a sheltered life, Esther did not know any of the popular-music selections available -- not even the classic "Baby Got Back." So she instead performed an a capella version of one of the songs she'd learned at the Yearning for Zion Ranch. The audience quickly grew restless, and I feared that tomatoes would fly. But thankfully, Wendell and I were able to defuse the situation and win over the crowd with a stirring rendition of our old standby, "Ebony and Ivory."

Raising the roof

I awoke early Monday morning to a thud on the roof. Then another. Wendell and I did what any self-respecting canines would do: We barked. And we surveyed the house. From room to room we ran, and in each spot the pounding persisted overhead. Was the compound under attack, perhaps by those nefarious chew toys? Or were the members of the Jedi church wing of Pug Life Ministries right -- had space aliens arrived? We returned to the bedroom to wake our parents, who for some reason were trying to sleep through the racket. "Mugsy," father said groggily, "it's just the roofers. Remember? They're replacing the roof."

I gave father a cold, piercing, incredulous stare. Nearly $5,000 of my rawhide fund, gone forever. And all because of his impetuous impatience.

True, the roof needed to be replaced. It was bombarded, along with every other home in the neighborhood, by a furious hailstorm. Why Allah had sent this wrath down upon my humble abode, I cannot say. But I suspect He was punishing me for not selling enough merchandise and raising enough money to serve His purpose. God willing, my beloved flock's generosity will spare me from a recurrence of this maelstrom.

Yes, the roof needed to be replaced. But to hire professionals, when our polygamist-sect child Esther had almost finished reading the shingles chapter of her Popular Mechanics library book, this was just too much. "Father," I barked, "I don't even know who you are anymore."

Wendell on the warpath

This is Wendell. Big Brother Mugsy has been busy working on a top-secret project, so he asked me to fill you in on my training efforts. In addition to my studies, I've been working out with the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF). Mugsy says it's unlikely that I'll see any combat, but he felt I could use the discipline -- much like Prince Harry over in England. So I've been getting lots of exercise and learning various canine combat techniques. Just this morning, I learned that a human male can be incapacitated for several seconds with a sharp and unexpected bite to the nipple.

My favorite training exercise involves hunting a tennis ball. I could literally do this all day, but the trainers always seem to tire of it before I do.

Here's a photographic guide to a recent hunt:


The ayatollah, peace be upon him except when I am biting his tail, was there to supervise.


I spotted a tennis ball and was off like a lightning bolt. I can reach any spot in the back yard in 0.3 seconds or less.


I was close enough to taste its felty goodness.


I moved in ...


... and then, in an oddly catlike manner, I pounced.


With my prey helpless to escape, it was time for a victory lap.




And then it was time to rest.


Don't I make a fearsome soldier?


Well, don't I?!?

Holy ground

I have been most impressed in recent days by this massive sinkhole in southeastern Texas. Its appetite appears to be nearly as voracious as my own.

Mazel tov, Israel

Today, Israel celebrates its 60th anniversary. So Pug Life Ministries has dispatched an envoy (pictured above) from its Jewish wing to help the Israelis mark the occasion. The world's largest interfaith, interspecies ministry could do no less.

Sixty years and one day ago, the Jewish nation did not exist. And then, it did. This offers hope to stateless canines everywhere. Since the days of Abraham, dogs have begged for a nation of their own. Yet the humans, being typically dense, assumed our four-legged forebears were merely begging for food.

We shall beg no more. Pugistan is there for the taking, my flock. And with God as my witness, I will make it happen. I will lead us to the promised land.

Tell me a dog couldn't lead this country

A proposal recently landed on my desk. It was a business opportunity, a chance for the ministry to invest in a daring new real estate development. The pitch, from the U.S. Defense Department, went something like this:

"War-torn Iraqi capital seeks investors for luxury hotels, upscale retail outlets, high-end condominiums and an amusement park. Must be willing to tolerate blistering heat, sandstorms and daily mortar attacks."

For further details on this 100 percent real plan that the Pentagon has cooked up, I urge you to read the story here. In addition to battling a years-long insurrection, it seems the Pentagon has been drawing up these blueprints as part of its five-year, $5 billion development "dream list" for the Green Zone, which of late has come under almost daily rocket and mortar fire as conditions in Baghdad have deteriorated. For a frame of reference on the Pentagon's desired timeline, it was roughly five years ago that President Bush declared "mission accomplished" in the Iraq war.

I gave this investment opportunity all the consideration it merited. But as enticing as the idea of a "Tigris Woods Golf and Country Club" was (the Pentagon's name, not mine), I decided to move on to more plausible endeavors. You know, things like offers for affordable swampland and investment deals from Nigerian princes with long e-mail addresses.

Torch update

I have been unable to blog these last few days, as I was busy putting out diplomatic fires regarding Pugistan's Olympic torch run. So I will give a brief recap to those of you who were not pre-selected by my security apparatus to watch the relay. The torch arrived as planned, and I promptly used it to toast some marshmallows as well as a scrumptious batch of halaal weenies. After dining on marshmallow goo and hot dogs, I passed the torch to my little brother, Wendell. And this is where the relay began to go downhill.

Wendell flew right past the next three runners, essentially sprinting four legs of the relay himself while also setting a handful of bushes on fire. Given his supernatural speed and quickness, the other runners were unable to catch him. Finally, mother coaxed the torch away from Wendell by bartering for a pair of Milkbones. The relay then continued on a somewhat normal schedule for the next hour or so before an overzealous member of the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF) got overly territorial and, to the great displeasure of the Chinese, extinguished the flame.

Carrying a torch

It has been a momentous day for the Pugistani nation, as we secured our first-ever Olympic torch relay. After a series of troubled torch runs around the world, rife with anti-China demonstrations and shortened routes, the torch had been set to return to China following Tuesday's run in Vietnam. But I picked up the Pug Life phone and made an urgent call, waking Chinese President Hu Jintao at 3 a.m. "Hu," I barked, "you must send the torch to Pugistan. China is the pug's ancestral homeland, and the ties between us run deep. Plus, God willing, I would like to roast some marshmallows." I then assured President Hu that there would be no protests to embarrass his nation -- my ability to suppress dissent is legendary, and no Tibet-loving Lhasa Apso is going to steal my thunder. After consulting with his godless communist cohorts, President Hu agreed to formally recognize Pugistan as a nation and send the torch to the ayatollah compound, where it is scheduled to arrive in the morning via UPS.

Tomorrow, I will pass the torch to my little brother to officially kick off our relay and usher in a new era of international respect for Pugistan. Allahu akbar! Then I will pray that young Wendell does not burn the house down with one of his wild figure-eight sprints.

So far, so good

Esther, our new foster child, seems to be adapting well to her new environment. With its satellite TV, wireless Internet and squeaking toys, the ayatollah compound is worlds apart from Esther's old home on her cloistered West Texas ranch. The technology of the modern world was completely foreign to young Esther, but she has already mastered the dishwasher and vacuum. God willing, she will take to the hedgetrimmers with similar aplomb and lack of bloodshed.

Esther misses her mother greatly, but she has confided in me that she is happy to be away from the Yearning for Zion Ranch. Though she described certain idyllic charms consistent with a typical third-world upbringing, Esther also spoke of an atmosphere of cruelty at the polygamist compound. Worst of all, she said, was the constant teasing and ridicule of the other children, who had been calling her a spinster since her 11th birthday.

My polygamist protege

It has been an exciting day at the ayatollah compound. Esther, our new foster child, has arrived after being plucked from the clutches of a West Texas polygamist compound. A judge this week ordered that Esther and 436 of her peers be placed in foster homes while the court awaits DNA test results and sorts through one of the most complex custody cases in state history. So now Wendell and I have a new protege and playmate to keep us company while our parents are at work. Esther is rather quiet and reserved, but we have found her to be tidy and an excellent cook -- her Milkbone casserole was delicious. As a 12-year-old, Esther was taught years ago that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. She is also quite handy with a needle and thread, and she has promised to sew a new outfit for Wendell as soon as she finishes vacuuming the house.

The interrogation of Bella Rose: Part II

Bella's piercing eyes peered out from her cell. A prolonged, guttural growl escaped her lips, despite the muzzle she wore. She appeared to be strapped to a large steel board by some kind of doggy straitjacket. "I've been expecting you," she snarled, a wave of stench accompanying her breath. "Come closer. Closer ..."

I edged toward the thick bars of Bella's cell, studying her frightful visage. Her skin twitched, and her eyes darted around the room. "Bella," I spoke, "you have some information that I need. I am here to retrieve it."

"You want the rawhide, eh?" she growled. "Noticed it missing, did you?"

That was exactly why I was here. The enriched rawhide. A huge quantity had gone missing the night of the Pug Life Telethon. I kept this theft a secret from the International Atomic Energy Agency, but in truth, it had set the ministry back years. "Where is the rawhide, Bella?" I barked.

"Squid pro ... quo?" she barked. I studied her face. "You have no idea what you're talking about, do you, Bella?" Her eyes darted to the floor. "No," she admitted. "Listen, Bella," I barked, "I am not here to play games. If I were, I'd have brought my tug-of-war rope. Now either you volunteer some information, or I will force it from you."

Mindful of the result of our last epic battle, Bella nodded slowly and began to tell a rambling tale. She admitted she'd taken the rawhide, four tons of it, and gone into hiding. "And then," she said, "I took a lover ..."

"Bella!" I interrupted. "T-M-I." I tasted a hint of vomit in the back of my mouth.

"But you don't understand, ayatollah," she said. "This is where the rawhide went -- I gave it as a gift. Perhaps you have heard of my whippet friend."

No, it could not be! I knew exactly who Bella spoke of. It was the incredible hulking whippet. "Did this ... friend of yours eat all the rawhide?" I asked. She shook her head. "No, a small amount remains," she said. "I will give you the address."

Now that I had the information I sought, there was but one more consideration: Bella's soul. But as I studied her crazed, twitching face, a realization hit me. I could probably cast out the demons inside her, but Bella would still be what we in the business call a "bad dog." Her soul is like a low-rent tenement house for evil forces. An exorcism might cure her for now, but there was nothing to prevent her from inviting the demons back in. Much as it pained me to do so, I knew there was no other choice.

"Farewell, Bella," I barked. "I will pray for your redemption, and I will try to find a permanent solution to free you of your demonic influence. But for now, it is best for all involved that you remain under lock and key."

The interrogation of Bella Rose

"Wait here," I barked. "If I'm not back in eight hours, have the humans drive you home. Then contact Supreme Commander Brody of the Armed Revolutionary Forces and tell him to initiate Operation Ichabod. He'll know what to do from there." Wendell nodded intently before becoming distracted by his tail and chasing it. Could I really trust the pup with such an important mission? At this point, it seemed, I had no choice. I exited the car and stealthily made my way from the outer parking lot to the naval brig's security checkpoint. Using skills I had picked up while boarding with a ninja family on Mount Shibutsu, I slipped past the guards unnoticed. The shadows provided cover as I made my way to the commanding officer's quarters. Then I pawed at the door.

Adm. Jacobs looked surprised when he saw me on his welcome mat, but he invited me in. I raised my paw to shake his hand. Being a cat owner, he seemed impressed. "We have to talk," I barked. "I must see Bella tonight." The admiral tried to dissuade me. The Chihuahua is too dangerous, he told me. "No one enters her holding block. No one."

I nonchalantly pushed my beard to the side and took hold of the medallion I wear around my neck, causing it to swing from side to side. My bark flowed in an even, soothing tone. Within minutes, the admiral was under my hypnotic spell.

Back outside, I traveled another 200 yards to the prison entrance. I presented the guards with a handwritten note from Adm. Jacobs. Though they seemed taken aback by its message, the guards complied, opening the sturdy steel door. One escorted me inside, where we passed through another thick door and then another. Then the guard moved back toward the doorway. "This is as far as I go," he said, his voice breaking. "You'll find the Chihuahua up there." He pointed ahead and then hurried back through the door, slamming it shut behind him. The final barrier unlocked with a thud and slowly moved to the side, urged on by the straining whine of electric gears. I moved ahead, the damp concrete cold on my paws. After passing a series of empty cells, I reached a windowless concrete wall. From there, the corridor split off to the left at a 90-degree angle. I turned and walked past three more dimly lit cells.

What I saw next chilled me to my last rawhide bone.

To be continued ...

Announcement regarding Sister Bella

Many of you know the long and sordid story of Bella the Chihuahua. She began her career with Pug Life Ministries' Catholic wing as a nun. She was not exactly sweet, but still, she was fairly innocuous. Somewhere down the line, however, she snapped. Bella returned to her ancestral homeland of Mexico, where she wreaked havoc on unsuspecting villagers as a feared bandit. Even members of the drug cartels cowered before her and the marauding gang that she directed. She was cold and merciless, leaving grievous ankle wounds from the Texas border to Mexico City. Finally, the ministry intervened, sending an elite squad of bulldog commandos to apprehend Bella. Her subsequent exorcism, in which she temporarily killed the pope and very nearly took my own life, was the stuff of both legend and nightmare. But it seemed to be effective -- for a while. Once again, the demons began to take hold of Bella's soul, causing her to lash out at the ministry and viciously attack rock star Tom Petty during last summer's Pug Life Telethon.

She escaped and was later taken into custody by federal authorities, and from there the trail went cold. Despite putting the Armed Revolutionary Forces' top bloodhounds on the case, we were unable to locate her. Until now. Yesterday, one of my top-secret moles within the White House sent me a communique regarding Sister Bella's status. It seems she is being held as an enemy combatant, deemed too dangerous to be allowed in the civilian legal system. She was transported to Jordan under the CIA's "extraordinary rendition" program, where authorities hoped to break her down and gain information from her via questionable interrogation techniques. The Jordanians are noted for their ruthlessness, their cruelty. But in this instance, they found that the blood on their hands was their own -- courtesy of a thousand bites from Bella's razor-sharp teeth. She was returned to the U.S. and sent to a maximum-security holding cell at a U.S. naval brig, where she resides today.

Tonight, I am going to visit Sister Bella. God willing, I will return to tell the tale.

Mugsy makes cryptic quasi-announcement

I have an important announcement to make, my flock. Unfortunately, it will have to wait. I am pressed for time and must get to a meeting regarding salmonella levels in the Ayatollah Mugsy Scout cookies. Do not worry; my scientists tell me the cookies should be perfectly fine for human consumption. Please check back later for this major announcement regarding high-stakes espionage, the U.S. government and Sister Bella.

A real hoot

This evening, I ventured to a local sports bar to dine and watch a little Final Four action. Around halftime, the waitstaff began linking together several tables for a large party. Finally, a dozen or so rowdy girls took their seats. They each appeared to be roughly 10 or 11 years old, and all wore orange and white tank-tops with "Hooters" emblazoned on the chest. My mother found this apparel to be somewhat disturbing on lasses so young. I, on the other paw, have nothing against owls. But it did pique my curiosity. Were they members of a sporting team called the Hooters? Or perhaps involved in some sort of mentorship program with the restaurant chain of the same name? I know this blog, representing the world's largest interfaith, interspecies ministry, has a fairly wide reach. So if anyone out there has an explanation, mother and I would love to hear it.

Happy birthday to me

As some of you know, I celebrated my 7th birthday this week. It seems like only yesterday that I was a tiny, growling pup hanging by my teeth from the legs of father's jeans as he slowly trudged across the room. To mark the occasion, the ministry erected a 70-foot obelisk outside the ayatollah compound. An inscription on the base bears a partial list of my major accomplishments through the first seven years of my life. Truly, it is a breathtaking sight. Yet some in the neighborhood have complained. It seems they were caught off-guard by this towering structure, and by the fact that it was built with homeowners' association funds. They thought their annual dues would go toward landscaping, lawn-mowing, perhaps another gazebo. But this is their own fault. Did they complain when I took control of the HOA presidency late last year through a bloodless coup? No, not in any significant numbers. And did they attend the hastily arranged 3 a.m. meeting where this obelisk was approved? Again, no. Only one neighbor took the time to show up and speak out against this monument. And his vote was outweighed by mine and that of HOA treasurer Wendell. Allah, we thank you for neighborhood politics.

Mallard's April Fool's Day joke

Assalamu alaikum, my flock. On Tuesday morning, I began a marathon 48-hour tug-of-war session with Wendell. Imagine my surprise when I returned to my blogging station and found that my aide-de-camp Mallard had played an April Fool's joke on the congregation. He even went into my pre-written speech file -- where I keep several dozen texts on hand, just in case -- to make it sound more authentic. But Mallard inserted a couple of changes near the end of the speech that should have made it a dead giveaway to anyone who follows my teachings. First, he wrote of "free and democratic elections." Ha ha ha! That Mallard, such a card ...

Then he named himself as my successor. Now Mallard is wonderful when it comes to dealing with physical stress, and he has the toothmarks to prove it. But mentally, there is simply no way a chew toy could handle this job. Being an ayatollah isn't easy, and Mallard would simply quack under the pressure.

Mugsy steps down as ayatollah

This is Mallard, Ayatollah Mugsy's aide-de-camp and favorite chew toy. As some of you have probably already heard, the ayatollah stepped down this morning as head of Pug Life Ministries. I'm in shock, as you probably are, too. I asked him if he wanted to address you on the blog, and he said, "No, my work with the ministry is finished. I will never blog again." So this is a sad, sad day. Here's the full text of his resignation speech, in case you didn't catch it on CNN:

In the last few days I have begun to atone for my private failings with my close advisers, the ladies of my harem and my entire family. The remorse I feel will always be with me. Words cannot describe how grateful I am for the love and compassion they have shown me. From those to whom much is given, much is expected. I have been given much: the love of my family, the faith and trust of the congregation of Pug Life Ministries, and the chance to lead the glorious nation of Pugistan. I am deeply sorry that I did not live up to what was expected of me. To every canine, and to all those who believed in what I tried to stand for, I sincerely apologize for a series of unspecified actions, which I will not go into now.

Over the course of my public life, I have insisted, I believe correctly, that people and canines -- and, to a lesser extent, felines -- regardless of their faith, position or power, take responsibility for their conduct. I can and will ask no less of myself. For this reason, I am resigning from the office of ayatollah. As you can see on the crestfallen faces of all the concubines gathered here on stage with me, I have done a bad, bad thing. So I have much to atone for.

I go forward with the belief, as others have said, that as Allah's creatures, our greatest glory consists not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. As I leave the ministry, I will first do what I need to do to help and heal myself and my family. Then I will try once again, outside of public life, to serve the common good and to move toward the ideals and solutions which I believe can build a future of hope and opportunity for us and for our puppies. Perhaps I will resurrect my music career, or maybe I will pursue my long-held dream of being a plumber. Given the legendarily attractive backside of my breed, I would no doubt have a leg up on any humans within the plumbing field.

I hope all of the congregation will take part in the upcoming free and democratic elections to choose my successor, but in the meantime, I have named my loyal aide Mallard as interim ayatollah. At this very moment, he is reading the Cliff's Notes for the Quran to prepare for the task ahead. Farewell, and may peace and rawhide be upon you all.

Dallas fundraiser to benefit dogs

A friend of the ministry has sent me an invitation to a canine-oriented fundraiser, and I want to pass it along to all the Pug Life congregants in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. It is a worthy cause. Perhaps not quite as worthy as donating to the ministry, but worthy nonetheless. Tell them Ayatollah Mugsy sent you, and you may get some extra cheese.

WHAT: Dallas hosts "The Big Send-Off" for an animal lover with a mission: Georgia cyclist Bill Craig is biking "The Dallas-to-Dallas Ride for Wet Noses," a fund-raising effort along his 800-mile Texas-to-Georgia route. Join us for some wine and cheese and mingling with animal lovers -- to send Bill off in style! Together, the Humane Society of Dallas County, Metroplex Animal Coalition, Companions for Life and PAWS in the City will toast Craig's ride at an evening event open to the public. Bill's ride will raise funds for shelters and humane societies along his route, via pledges and donations to support his message of "spay, neuter and adopt."

WHEN: Friday, April 4, 5:30 to 7:30 p.m.

WHERE: Paws in the City headquarters, 3506 Cedar Springs, Dallas, TX (Cedar Springs at Sale Street, off Turtle Creek Blvd.)

COST: Guests are asked to make a $20 donation by advance reservation, or $25 at the door.

CONTACT: 770-443-1075 or e-mail sandrasilver@sbcglobal.net

Because I support this cause, I am willing to overlook any human alcohol consumption that may take place. But I must hold the canine Muslims of the congregation to a higher standard and insist that they stick to the water bowl.

Eyelids ... growing ... heavy ...

It has been another exhausting day at the ministry, my flock. I have been perusing some real estate for a possible purchase for the Dogloo mosque, in addition to my usual scholarly and spiritual duties. Allah's work is never done, you know.

Thankfully, I have young Wendell to keep me company and share in my burden.

Let us pray

I would like to thank Conan the Chihuahua for bringing some much-needed publicity to the Buddhist wing of Pug Life Ministries. Although, frankly, I find the first paragraph of this story about the praying pooch to be a bit condescending.

Mugsy condemns 'Wheel of Fortune'

I cannot take anymore, my flock. Every time a letter is correctly chosen on Wheel of Fortune, that infernal "ding" sound sets my hackles on edge. I cannot help but bark my disapproval as each square illuminates. Consonant, vowel -- it makes no difference. In the hands of this evil game show, all the letters of the alphabet torment me.

Judging from this video I found on YouTube, I am not alone in my indignant rage. So I have launched a campaign to remove this filth from the airwaves. God willing, the infidel Pat Sajak and his hussy henchwoman Vanna White will be stopped.

Hoops contest update

I have received some questions and comments on the Pug Life Ministries NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament Bracket Challenge "Take On the Ayatollah" Contest™, so I want to briefly touch on a few points.

Someone asked whether this violated canine Islam's prohibition against gambling (which is not to be confused with prudent casino investing). This contest is not the same as those illegal underground office betting pools you may have heard about. It is free to enter this contest, so you are wagering nothing. We are simply playing for fun, and perhaps, God willing, a prize or two.

It was also pointed out to me that ESPN.com has been rather buggy lately, and sometimes clicking on the contest entry link results in an error message. I urge the infidels at ESPN to get this fixed promptly, lest they risk incurring my eternal wrath. If you have encountered this problem, I urge you to try again later.

Finally, my little brother Wendell is, indeed, filling out a bracket. I suspect he will be a natural when it comes to picking basketball games. With his long limbs and slender build, Wendell bears a striking resemblance to former UNLV and NBA star Stacey Augmon, a.k.a. the Plastic Man.

NCAA Tournament contest

Last night, I received a plea from one of the ministry's congregants, who also happens to be a decorated member of the Armed Revolutionary Forces. "Mugsy, great spiritual leader," Braxton barked, "will we be doing the NCAA BB bracket challenge this year?"

And the answer is yes. The Pug Life Ministries NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament Bracket Challenge "Take On the Ayatollah" Contest™ is back by popular demand. All entries must be in before the first game tips off Thursday morning. Prizes include $10,000 and a gift from the ministry's online store.

Click here to join the Pug Life Ministries group and fill out your bracket.

Having a ball

It has been a busy weekend here at the ayatollah compound. Rabbi Jake came to visit, and he brought some of my relatives and followers along with him. The big event -- and the primary reason for his visit -- occurred Saturday night, when Rabbi Jake was the special guest barker at the inaugural Ayatollah Mugsy Scouts Spring Cotillion. It was a splendid evening -- an occasion to honor the girls who sold the most Mugsy Scout cookies throughout the year. They all dressed up in their finest gowns and enjoyed an evening of well-mannered song and dance with their canine escorts. (My little brother, Wendell, was quite a hit, as he dances a mean foxtrot.)

As the festivities began, each Scout was presented with a merit badge, as well as a rawhide necklace to ensure that even the homeliest child had no trouble finding a dance partner.

Presidential politics

In recent days, the news media have begun to focus intently on my relationship with one of the leading presidential candidates, who has called me a longtime spiritual adviser. The media have seized upon some comments made in my fiery sermons, calling them controversial. There have been insinuations that I am some kind of nefarious influence, pulling the puppet strings to ensure that this candidate furthers the canine Muslim agenda. So I am here to set the record straight.

The fact that I have preached about the virtues of canine secession does not mean that this presidential hopeful shares these views. Nor does it mean that the candidate does not share these views (wink, wink).

Mugsy honors heroes

It has been a long time since I last had reason to award the ministry's highest human honor, the Pug Life Medal of Valor. But the recent actions of two men have reaffirmed my faith in a small pocket of humankind. Let the record show that a grateful canine nation honors the bravery of these two men.

RANDY EARL: When the West Virginian's small boat capsized as he was fishing with his dog Lacy, a black spaniel mix, he stayed in the 50-degree water with his life jacket while making sure Lacy was OK. "I put the dog on top of the boat," the 53-year-old said. When a state trooper arrived to rescue him, Earl asked the trooper to save the dog first.

STEPHEN (ODIE) ODOM: The Louisiana firefighter rescued two tiny terriers from a smoke-filled room during a fire last Friday. After noticing that one was not breathing, Odom removed his face mask and placed the dog's head inside so the oxygen could blow in its face. He then used his CPR training, including mouth-to-snout resuscitation, to revive the dog. Five minutes later, the dog began looking around and was returned to the owner of the house. Fire officials said they didn't know the dog's name. "We could just call it 'Lucky,"' said one official.

If any among you should happen upon these two brave men, I urge you to give them a pat on the back, or a rub on the belly. They embody the spirit of Pug Life Ministries. Thank you, Randy and Stephen. Copious amounts of rawhide surely await you both in heaven.

Mugsy issues fatwa for travelers

During my recent travels, I encountered a wide range of airport security measures. There was the anti-liquid bent of the Americans, who apparently believe that saline solution and Diet Coke can bring down a plane. There was the overzealous bag-searching and overly friendly body-patting of the Germans, who needed five minutes to deduce that my father's eyeglass case was not a threat. And there was the refreshing yet somewhat alarming laxity of the Italians, who didn't so much as stamp my passport despite my nearly two weeks in their fair country.

All of us who have flown have experienced the long lines and frustrating waits (especially when scrambling to make a connecting flight) that these security measures produce. But I am here to tell you, my flock, that it does not have to be this way. Humans bring much of this misery upon themselves through their lack of preparation. I stood by, dumbfounded, as traveler after traveler took the slowest path possible through the security line. What could have been a 10-minute wait routinely became a 30-minute wait. But I say "no more!" It is time to demand better. It is time to breeze through the security line in time to buy some #*@&#* Reese's Pieces before take-off! The infidels who slow us all down have left me no choice but to issue a fatwa!! Henceforth, the following rules must be observed by all travelers -- for the betterment of all animalkind.

1. If you see that security is requiring people to take off their shoes, do so before you reach the front of the line. Walking 10 feet in your socks won't hurt you.
2. When going through a metal detector, do not wait until you reach the machine to start fumbling around and putting your belongings in the little bowl security provides. Take all your metal-containing objects -- coins, keys, phone, watch, belt -- and place them in a carry-on bag or zip-up coat pocket before you reach the front of the line. Then you need only send that one item through the metal detector while you walk through alarm-free.
3. Yes, take off your metal-buckled belt. Even if it didn't set off the detector in Toledo.

Home, at last

I am back at the ayatollah compound after an Italian adventure that included two flight cancellations and an unplanned journey to Oklahoma City, hastily arranged to avoid spending a night at Washington Dulles airport. My entourage and I arrived back in our Dallas-area abode in a borrowed car late Saturday. And what indignity then awaited me? I found that I was to be cruelly stripped of an hour of sleep that night by Daylight Saving Time. If ever there was any doubt that this nation is controlled by corrupt corporate interests, proof can surely be found in the timing of this time change. It strikes right at the heart of the holy pug trinity of sleeping, eating and chewing. What should have been a glorious hour of sleep is now gone forever, as is a cherished hour of weekend cuddling time.

When I am caliph of Pugistan, God willing, we will spring forward at 4 o'clock on a Monday afternoon.

Art-filled day

I come to you today from under a Tuscan sun, my flock, although it is somewhat obscured at the moment by rainclouds. This morning, I visited the world-famous Uffizi art gallery, and then I traveled north to the Accademia gallery, where I saw Michelangelo's David. Never before had I been so impressed by the sight of a naked man, my flock. Let me amend that. Never before had I been impressed by the sight of a naked man. But it was truly a marvel -- it must have stood 20 feet above the floor.

Of all the wonders I have seen in Italy, one sight still eludes me. I have yet to spot an Italian pug. Tomorrow, Wendell and I will travel to Pisa in hopes of salvaging this trip. And perhaps we will offer some architectural advice on a certain crooked tower. Allah be with you.